Memories: Adnan being a boy, his midnight black eyes sparkling like the stars just had to live there when he laughed, the smell of the lemon tree that stood for decades in your back garden and still stands defiantly, your grandmothers wrinkled hands trying to photograph your face to memory whilst she trips over duas under her breath from going too fast.

17 years of love. Playback moments in the cinema of your mind.

Your feet. One foot after another.

Hope. You will find her at the bottom of your backpack, she always hides in the darkest of places in the darkest of time.